Actions and Motives
by LarcSakurai
Summary: A night out drinking between America and England would lead to something the Brit was sure to regret.


It wasn't often the two got together, even less frequent were encounters spent in friendly company. Yet every now and then the stubborn Englishman tired of drowning his sorrows in scotch alone and invited America along. Arthur led him home this particular evening, knowing he couldn't very well trust himself drunk in public. Last time they went out together, Alfred hadn't drank an ounce of anything but cheap American soft drinks knowing the invitation would inevitably lead to him carrying Arthur home by midnight. England simply could not allow this tonight. He wanted to get genuinely smashed and he'd be damned if he was to suffer the morning repercussions alone. Misery loved company, after all.

America was shocked upon entry to England's quaint cottage, greeted with the sight of the greatest array of alcohol he had ever laid eyes on since his days working at speakeasies forty years prior. Arthur wasted no time, immediately immersing himself in the first bottle of scotch he could locate knocking back shot after shot with reckless abandon. Alfred forged about for a bottle of bourbon, watching the Englishman's inebriation steadily set in. He had seen Arthur drink before, but never like this.

"You okay?"

"'m fine, wanker. Now drink that shot before I shove it down your throat m'self!"

Alfred found it better not to press his luck and set himself on course to matching England's world record of most shots downed per second. It didn't take long before both nations were thoroughly sloshed, cackling maniacally at tactless racial slurs that the haughty Brit would usually stick his nsoe up at. The room spun around them and bottles only piled higher on the central coffee table. Yet neither party was ready to admit defeat. The buzz made the war go away and that was all that mattered.

"Alfred! Hehe.. h-hey Alfred!"

"Wha'ya want?" America collided hard with the table sending bottles clattering across the floor. His legs dropped from under him, spilling the young blonde uncermoniously down upon the Englishman. Fingers wound into the younger man's shirt, a bubbly grin plastered on Arthur's face.

"I-I love ya!" he declared, immensely proud of himself.

"I l've y'too!" Alfred replied, ruffling the other's wild hair.

"Yeah huh!"

"L've me harder!"

Clothes fell away. Mouths clashing clicking teeth noiselessly around deep moans. Legs spread and cheap, wild screams filled the air in drunken harmony. Arms locked around Alfred's neck, hips bucking up hard into the American's thrusts. Driving in deeper, penetrating to Arthur's very core to send him reeling back in ecstasy. Salty sweat sliding down Alfred's neck, gathering on Arthur's tongue. Drinking from pleasure's spring.

"M-More... Bloody hell, more!"

Arcing near in half, wild fire in his belly. Tight, so very tight. Moving easily as the cries built in volume. Dancing in the throes of alcoholic passions soaking to the bone. Closer and closer until the ultimate high struck and both came screaming into shameless climax.

It wasn't even dawn yet, the chill of early morn biting at the small blonde's chest. His spine tensed, pulling the blankets tight around him to block away the cold. Movement beside him urged the man to rise, the hangover colliding into his skull with brutal force competing with the pain in his lower back. Squinting through the haze he managed to make to make out the shape of company that hadn't quite been ready to abandon his misery. The boy before was almost handsome. Iconic with the smooth moonglow casting light across his shoulders and down his back outlining every fine line of muscle. Even from behind Alfred managed to maintain the powerful image one would expect from the United States of America.

"You still here, here?"

Alfred looked back over his shoulder, wisps of smoke curling around his face from the end of a short cigarette. No glasses, Alfred would be blind as a bat and yet Arthur couldn't stop the train of thoughts running wild in his head. Knowing full well what that lithe, young body had just done to him. England cursed himself for such reckless behavior. Bedding America, even as a drunken misconduct, was bound to carry unsavory consequences. Regardless of how the other may have matured, he was still only a child.

"Yeah..."

"This changes nothing between us."

"I know." Alfred took a long drag on his cigarette, putting out the last bit. "So long as it makes the war go away. Isn't that what matters?"

Arthur laid back in bed, watching as the boy before him suddenly bloomed into a man.

"Yes.. I do suppose you're right."


End file.
